


Living On A Latte And A Prayer

by betweentheheavesofstorm



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-15 06:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheheavesofstorm/pseuds/betweentheheavesofstorm
Summary: ‘Hey,’ the newcomer says. He looks vaguely familiar – might be on her course too, though she doesn’t recall seeing him in lectures. ‘Mind if I sit here?’He’s got to be kidding.Yanking an earphone out, she looks up at him. The fact that he’s attractive makes this exponentially worse.Or: what happens when the campus cafe is open all night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beesreadbooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beesreadbooks/gifts).



> The title is a line from the opening song in Next To Normal. It's also like, a constant student mood.

Brienne isn’t usually one for religion, but whoever decided the campus café should be 24 hour has to be some kind of deity.

It’s not staffed 24/7, so she doesn’t have to feel bad about whoever’s stuck behind the counter. They shut up the main service desk and lock all the back room at 8, but there’s a self-service machine open and you can stay at the tables all night. When the library’s packed into the early hours of the morning, the coffee shop has quickly become her favoured alternative.

She’s not the only one to think so. In the last few days it’s been busier and busier, and this week the café has full most nights. She doesn’t mind the company so much – maybe it’s the size and oddity of the space, but there’s a certain camaraderie developing in the café. So long as everyone’s quiet and sticks to listening to music through headphones, she’s pretty good at ignoring them.

Today, she buys a double strength espresso before sitting down at her usual corner spot. It’s only 9pm, but she’s found that’s the ideal window between the evening crowd leaving and the all-nighters setting up. This latest essay is really putting up a struggle, but she’s nothing if not tenacious. It’s a whole new kind of frustrating to spend hours working on it and find that it hasn’t improved in the slightest, but she keeps reasoning that it won’t get any better if she doesn’t work on it. And now the deadline has crept up on her and it’s due _tomorrow_ and the only way to not freak out is to spent every remaining minute on it.

The café gradually fills up around her over the next hour. She recognises a few of the regulars now, even if they don’t acknowledge each other. The guy with the brown curly hair is on her course, though he spends more time eyeing up the blond dude on the next table than actually studying. Brienne’s watched them a couple of times, but these late sessions are when she focuses on work best.

She’s just settling into a rhythm when there’s a cough, and she looks up to find somebody hovering in front of her table.

‘Hey,’ the newcomer says. He looks vaguely familiar – might be on her course too, though she doesn’t recall seeing him in lectures. ‘Mind if I sit here?’

He’s got to be kidding.

Yanking an earphone out, she looks up at him. The fact that he’s attractive makes this exponentially worse.

‘It’s my table,’ she says, defensively. It’s not like she hasn’t claimed it. Textbooks, highlighters and various granola bar wrappers are spread over the wooden surface.

The guy smiles, but it seems to take an effort. ‘I know, but everywhere else is full, and this is where the power outlets are.’

A quick glance around the café confirms that every other table is indeed taken. Fuck.

‘Have you tried the library?’ Brienne asks, knowing it to be hopeless even as she says it. The only way anyone would approach her table is if they’ve already exhausted every other possibility.

‘Nowhere with an outlet. Come on, I’ve got an essay due tomorrow.’

‘So do I.’

‘Yeah, but,’ he smiles again, this time self-deprecatingly, ‘I haven’t started it yet. You don’t want to be the reason I fail?’ Seeing he’s failing to sway her, he reconsiders. ‘Look, I’ll buy you a coffee.’

The double espresso will last her a while, but it is possible she’ll be here all night. Brienne looks the guy up and down, sighs, and starts moving her stuff onto the left side of the table.

‘Thanks.’ The guy takes the seat opposite and takes out his own laptop. ‘I’m Jaime.’

‘Brienne,’ she supplies.

At least he doesn’t have tons of stuff. A laptop, some earphones, a phone charger and a packet of spearmint chewing gum make a fairly small pile, especially when compared with her mountain of textbooks. She watches him get settled, then hurriedly returns to her essay.

It’s the last paragraph that’s a problem. It’s a point she desperately needs, but it doesn’t seem to relate much to the previous section of the argument. The essay flows nicely up until then – but if she cuts it, then she’ll be 300 words under the limit with only a few hours to think of something else to say and get it to the appropriate standard.

Across the table, Jaime is humming under his breath and untangling his earphones, while keeping his eyes fixed on his laptop screen. He catches her looking and smiles in a self-confident way that makes her immediately recoil.

‘I hope I’m not distracting you,’ he says.

He’s not flirting. He’s just being a dick.

Brienne plugs her own earphones in and opens Spotify. ‘Stop humming.’

 

The first hour is the worst. Jaime can’t seem to settle to anything. He’ll be typing frantically one minute and mindlessly scrolling the next – when he’s not taking regular Instagram breaks. Every so often he starts tapping irregular rhythms on the tabletop, but usually stops fairly quickly.

They’re earning quite a few glances from other tables, thanks to his restlessness. Brienne’s wondering if it would be overkill to make a sign that says I DON’T KNOW HIM in order to preserve her café reputation. The last thing she wants is for anyone to assume he’s here by her invitation.

The last paragraph is still giving her trouble. She’s tweaked the first couple of lines a bit so that they connect to the previous point, but is now stuck in what seems like an extremely clunky middle section.

She reaches for her coffee before remembering there are only cold dregs left. It’s only 11pm, she should pace herself before getting another one now - or by dawn she’ll have blown all her food money for the week.

It’s going to be a long night.

 

Sometime around 11.30 Jaime actually starts writing, even leaving his phone untouched for more than twenty minutes. Brienne takes this as a good sign and doesn’t say anything for fear of disrupting his concentration.

He can’t be _really_ planning to do the whole essay tonight, can he? If he’s on her course and they share a deadline it stands to reason that they’re working on the same assignment. She’s spent _weeks_ compiling reading and perfecting her outline. Nobody’s going to come up with four thousand brilliant and coherent words overnight.

Still, it’s not her problem. She’s got bigger things to worry about than people who aren’t interested in taking the course seriously, and so long as he behaves himself she doesn’t have any excuse to get rid of him.

Plus, she’s got the impression that getting rid of Jaime could be surprisingly difficult.

 

‘Shit,’ Jaime says, ‘when did it get this late?’

Brienne glances reflexively at the clock mounted on the café wall. ‘It’s only 1.’

‘How come everyone’s still here?’ He has, at least, the good grace to keep his voice down. ‘I thought most people would have gone to bed by now.’

Another espresso would be excellent right now.

‘This is your first all-nighter, isn’t it?’ Brienne says, saving her Word document and opening Candy Crush on her phone. It’s perfect when she needs to shut her brain off for five minutes.

Jaime shrugs. ‘Yeah. How many have you done?’

‘A few.’ Does he remember that he offered to buy her a coffee? Would it be cheap to bring it up now?

‘Right,’ he says, stretching. His jersey rides up, exposing a strip of stomach. Brienne is definitely not looking. ‘Forgot, I’m in the company of nerds.’

‘Do you want me to kick you off my table?’

‘Can’t do that when I’m about to pay you.’ Good, now he’s remembering. He gets up slowly, feeling in his pocket for his wallet. ‘What d’you want?’

She might as well get something nice. If any of her friends were paying for it she’d pick the cheapest option, but Jaime’s not exactly being considerate.

‘Cappuccino,’ she says. There’s something comforting about having that much needless foam.

He nods and heads over to the machine. She takes the opportunity to stretch a little herself. The table isn’t really meant for someone as tall as she is, but she’s discovered it’s vital to have a proper chair. The raised bench over by the windows is better accommodating to her frame, but sitting on those stools for longer than an hour is guaranteed to make your butt fall asleep.

She looks back at her laptop. She’s sorted that paragraph as best she can, and will just have to come back and check on it tomorrow. For now she’s trying to track down a mention of a case study that wasn’t relevant when she read it but now might be, only she can’t remember where it was. She’s got a vague feeling that it’s somewhere quite niche, but it has to be a journal she’s cited somewhere. It can’t have just _disappeared_.

‘A cappuccino for your majesty.’ Jaime places it in front of her, putting a latte down on his side.

‘Thanks.’ She warms her hands on the sides of the cup. ‘How’s your essay going?’

‘Not well,’ he admits, sipping his own coffee and running an absent hand through his hair. The gesture nearly makes her laugh, it’s simultaneously so vain and yet so automatic he probably didn’t realise he was doing it. ‘I’ve got an introduction now, though.’

‘Just an introduction?’ She shouldn’t panic about this; he’s not her responsibility.

‘Yeah, but that’s the hardest part,’ he says, as though she has no idea what they’re talking about. ‘They decide on your grade from the intro and then skim everything else.’

Brienne thinks about answering, but there’s no possible version of events where here response is calm. She redirects her attention to the cappuccino – which, if not quite the deliciousness she had hoped for, feels vaguely more indulgent than an espresso would be.

‘It’s fine,’ Jaime continues. ‘I got 87 in the last module so even if I bomb this one my overall term mark will be OK.’

‘ _87?’_ Brienne almost drops the cup. ‘How the hell – ’

‘I don’t write _every_ assignment the night before.’

Any sympathy she’d been feeling disappears immediately. She’d got 76, which seemed like an excellent mark at the time. It’s just _insulting_ that Jaime should have done so well when he clearly isn’t giving a shit now.

‘I should get back to this,’ she says, nodding towards her essay.

‘It has to be fine by now,’ he says. ‘You’ve been working on it hours.’

‘It’s not done,’ she says firmly, bringing the document back up and skimming through it to the last section.

Oh shit, she still needs that citation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely Should Not be starting a mini multi-chaptered fic when I'm this busy buuuuut hey! It's happening! Asked the lovely [Beesreadbooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beesreadbooks/pseuds/Beesreadbooks) for a prompt and they said coffee shop. I'm in the third year of my BA right now and unable to comprehend not being a student...and so this AU was born.
> 
> It's going to be about 3-4 chapters, so not tooo long (I would love to make this an incredibly slow burn, but, uh, I really don't have the time for that, fun as it would be!). 
> 
> Also a quick clarification: though I'll probably avoid stating it outright, I may imply that Brienne and Jaime are studying law. There is a problem here, in that I don't study law and don't know anyone who does. All my essay knowledge comes from my own degree, which is English Literature. That said, marking grids are usually fairly similar across the board:  
> 60-69 is a 2:1  
> 70+ is a first  
> Anything 80+ is very difficult to get in essay-assessed subjects. An 87 would be nigh-on impossible.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne leans back in her seat, too tired to tune out whatever Jaime’s going to say. ‘I assume this is going somewhere?’  
> ‘If a bird – say, a duck, or a seagull – accosts you and steals your food, can you call it a mugging or is it just, I don’t know, survival of the fittest?’

‘Do you think birds have morals?’

Brienne looks across the table. She should have known this was coming. Everyone else in the coffee shop is well used to and braced for the surreal sense of liminality that descends after 3 am. There was no time before you were in the café and there will be no time after; time does not exist; you are strangely wired and cannot even passingly entertain the notion of sleeping; and there is no telling what you might say unprovoked.

And now she gets to witness Jaime experiencing that for the first time. _Great._

‘No, I don’t,’ she says, highlighting the main body of her essay to check the word count. Fuck’s sake, now it’s three words over. There has to be an unnecessary adverb she can delete somewhere.

‘I’m not talking about Kantian ethics,’ Jaime clarifies. He had another coffee twenty minutes ago and there’s a manic gleam developing in his eyes. ‘But, say, if birds can be said to have malicious intent.’

Would it be too colloquial to turn ‘it is not’ into ‘isn’t’? Probably.

Brienne leans back in her seat, too tired to tune out whatever Jaime’s going to say. ‘I assume this is going somewhere?’

‘If a bird – say, a duck, or a seagull – accosts you and steals your food, can you call it a mugging or is it just, I don’t know, survival of the fittest?’

Truly, this whole table-sharing experience is turning out to be a reminder of why she’s best studying alone. Even if there is something quite funny about this particular tangent.

‘Calling it _robbery_ or anything like that implies malice,’ Jaime ploughs on, ‘but ducks have no sense of good or evil, they just see food and go for it.’

‘Sounds like you have your answer.’ She gets an idea. Picking her phone up off the table, she opens Instagram.

Jaime huffs. ‘But what do we call that? If in the wild, duck number one has found a bag of bread and duck number two takes it, we might say that that’s theft but do we _mean ­_ – ’

‘You shouldn’t feed ducks bread,’ Brienne says automatically.

‘What?’

‘Bad for them. Low nutritional value and the excess contributes to pond pollution.’ She opens the search page and pauses. She doesn’t have his last name, but being on the same course may mean they have a couple of mutual friends.

‘I didn’t realise I was talking to a duck expert.’

‘It’s fairly common knowledge,’ she says, typing _Jamie_ into the search bar. The results are unhelpful and she scrolls through half a dozen unfamiliar faces before remembering that there’s an alternate spelling of the name.

His profile pops up almost immediately. The vibe certainly matches the air with which he entered the café. His last couple posts make his uni habits abundantly clear: a row of empty Jack Daniels bottles lined up on a windowsill, posing in a club with a group of similarly attractive friends. Generally speaking, the posts make her like him less – not that she was terribly attached to begin with – but there is something hysterical about a guy who got 600 likes on a photo of his abs talking about duck ethics at three in the morning.

‘Have you ever been mugged by a bird?’ she asks, despite herself.

‘I had a seagull steal a bacon sandwich one time,’ he recalls mournfully. ‘I was sitting on a bench near the pier and put the sandwich down for a sec next to me. Next thing I know it’s gone and there’s a seagull twenty feet away having the best meal of its life.’

‘Shouldn’t have put it down.’ She’s careful to keep her phone angled so that he can’t see she’s Insta-stalking him.

‘Are you saying I deserved to lose it because I wasn’t naturally suspicious?’

‘Mm.’ She scrolls through a handful more pictures and loses interest. Nothing he’s posted is more interesting than anything he’s saying – not that the bar is that high.

‘I’ll have you know I’m naturally suspicious of everyone now,’ Jaime adds. ‘The very fact that I’m sitting at your table shows incredible progress that I’m able to trust again. I haven’t even worried about you stealing my gum.’

‘It’s spearmint,’ she says.

‘So?’

‘Nobody’s going to steal that.’

‘A seagull would.’

‘Gum can’t be good for them. Probably the last thing it’d ever steal.’

‘Serves it right!’ Jaime says, a little too loud for comfort. The brown haired guy on the next table over takes a break from ogling his crush to shoot them a dirty look.

‘Be quiet,’ Brienne hisses. ‘If you get me kicked out of here I swear to god – ’

‘You’ll do what? Email the tutor and tell her that I’ve only just started the assignment?’ he doesn’t lower his voice.

She hasn’t finished her essay’s conclusion or formatted it properly and it’s due in five hours. Her good humour dissolves sharply. With a calm that she does not expect, she leans across the table, drawing his gaze to her.

‘If I don’t finish this I will _personally_ drag you out to the woods behind the library and beat you into the dirt,’ she says. ‘I will leave you bleeding, come back and upload a blank document as your essay.’

Jaime freezes in place. He’s staring at her in what could be incredulity, amazement or fear. Brienne would settle for a combination of all three. She’s not normally one for threats of physical violence, but Jaime has managed to find her breaking point.

Then he lets out a breath, and, still holding her gaze, ‘I could take you.’

She leans back, placing her right hand on her thigh in a way she knows shows off her bicep. ‘Are you sure you want to test that?’

He could put up a fight; she’s got no doubts there. Even if she hadn’t seen his abs on Instagram, it doesn’t take a genius to figure to see that he’s powerfully built. He’s strong enough to do some damage. But he’s also strong in a way that reeks of performance. He’s probably obsessed with going to the gym. If push came to shove, she’d be willing to bet she’s tougher than he is.

Jaime opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by a loud and pointed cough from the guy at the next table. Brienne’s fight instinct fizzles out, leaving a low resentment. She mouths ‘sorry’ at the guy with the brown hair and settles for fixing Jaime with a disapproving stare.

‘You should think about becoming a librarian,’ he says, but at least he says it quietly. He does, after all, have an essay to finish too.

‘Don’t think I’ve forgiven you,’ she mutters, reopening her laptop. Her common sense has returned and is saying that she’ll _definitely_ get suspended for beating up another student, no matter how tempting he’s making it.

Jaime shrugs, and then stands up. Her eyes snap up warily; but he’s only walking to the vending machine.

She better get some excellent karma for this.

 

Jaime’s idea of an apology, it turns out, is dropping a Snickers onto her pile of notes.

‘You can’t bribe me,’ Brienne says, without looking up.

His response is to drop five more chocolate bars onto the table. Followed by three packets of crisps and a bottle of Cherry Coke.

‘Did you buy the entire machine?’ Just looking at all the sugar is reminding her how tired she is.

‘Only the appetizing options,’ Jaime says, unwrapping a Twix and taking a bite of both halves simultaneously. ‘I was drawn in by the chocolate chip cookie but recovered my sense in time.’

She won’t accept any unless he apologises. It’s such a typical fuckboy move; thinking he can just buy stuff to make it better. And if he starts crunching crisps next to her, she’ll do something she isn’t proud of.

‘You should eat something,’ he says, noticing her abstinence. ‘Brain needs food.’

‘I don’t think this can really be called _food.’_ With a great force of will, she pushes the Snickers off her notepad.

‘What do you want me to do? Hand out chocolate to everyone here until they welcome you back to their ranks of boring solitude?’

‘What I want,’ Brienne says, angrily selecting the essay and making it double-spaced, ‘is for you to be _quiet._ I don’t care if you write your essay or not, but I need to finish mine.’

She puts her earphones back in and turns up the Spotify volume before he has a chance to respond. The first thing to play is an ad; which slightly ruins her vibe, but goddammit she’s going to finish this essay if it kills her.

To her surprise, Jaime actually does what he’s told. Returning to his laptop, he appears to find something to occupy himself – though whether he’s typing the essay or a Facebook rant to one of his friends, she doesn’t know and doesn’t care.

Right. Formatting nearly done. It’s never as difficult as she thinks it’s going to be, though there’s something imposingly real about seeing her essay laid out in the approved style. It never feels real until this point; while it’s all in crowded single-spaced paragraphs it could be any piece of writing. It’s this stage that turns it into something properly academic.

Brienne rereads her conclusion. It works now; the point she added about the 1998 case links back to what she was saying in the middle paragraphs. The last line is still a bit awkward – if she can just rewrite that to be one word fewer she’ll be sorted.

Plus, if she finishes a couple hours before the deadline she can go straight home to sleep. The thought of her bed carries her away momentarily, imagining curling into a ball under the duvet and giving herself permission to sleep as long as she wants.

She’s not there yet, though. Brienne gives herself a little shake and refocuses on that last sentence. She types out a couple of alternatives, but neither of them sound right. Your last sentence should be like a mic drop, she read somewhere. That may not strictly apply to this type of paper, but she does need that sense of confident finality.

Her eyes drift up, to Jaime – who’s now chewing on the end of a pencil while contemplating his screen - and she gets an idea.

 

Half an hour later, Brienne closes her laptop. ‘ _Done.’_

The final proofread had taken longer than expected; she’d found a couple of words that had needed tidying out. Then she’d uploaded it to Turnitin and gone over her similarity report in detail, making sure it was only quotes and references that had been highlighted. With an assignment she’s invested this much time in, she’s not about to take any chances.

‘With four hours in hand,’ Jaime says, stretching slightly in his seat. ‘Nice one.’

‘Thanks.’ She looks at the piles of notes, waiting to feel the giddy relief that normally follows submitting an essay, but she’s too tired for it. All she can fathom is a hazy vision of getting home and going to bed. ‘Can’t say this was fun.’

‘If you’re going, I will too,’ he says, watching her gather up her books into a stack.

‘Have you got anything to upload?’ She can’t muster the curiosity to ask how many words he’s managed.

‘Nothing spectacular, but without your withering judgement I’m not going to get anything done.’

Withering judgement. Exactly the kind of air she wants to give off. Wonderful.

They pack up their collective belongings. Well, Brienne packs up; Jaime shoves everything he owns unceremoniously into an expensive-looking leather satchel and slings it over one shoulder. Brienne tries to ignore the fact that he leaves the Cherry Coke and a sizeable portion of the chocolate on the table.

‘Oh, come on,’ Jaime says, as she moves to walk away. ‘You look like you’re about to pass out.’

‘Thanks.’

‘If you leave it, you’re basically littering,’ he argues. He makes a movement as if to make a grab for her arm, but thinks better of it.

‘I’m sure somebody else will eat it,’ she says, though when she glances round the café she’s less sure. It’s a lot quieter than it was a few hours ago; they aren’t the only people to retire.

‘Jesus, it’s _chocolate.’_ He picks it up and stuffs it into her hands. She’s too tired to protest.

They walk to the exit. It’s still dark out, with the slight haze that signals dawn is only an hour or so away. Against her better judgement, Brienne opens the Snickers and takes a bite. It’s delicious, she admits to herself grudgingly.

‘Well,’ Jaime says, hoisting his satchel more securely onto his shoulder. ‘See you on Thursday.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is coming way sooner than I thought the second chapter would be, but here we are. (Still thinking about 4 chapters in total!)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the first chapter - I hope you continue to enjoy it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, that was working under the assumption that she’d never see him again. There was no particular reason why she should – whatever his parting comments, she didn’t get the impression that he was anxious to repeat the experience. She’d hated being distracted and he’d hated … well, most things, from the sound of it. They’re clearly not meant to be study buddies.

Brienne’s shift pattern is slightly more forgiving over the next couple of days, so she gets to enjoy the novelty of going to the library during daylight hours. The café is an impossibility during the day: too crowded and too noisy, and it’s not really fair to the staff to only buy the cheaper self-service drinks.

There are parts of the library she likes. One excellent seat by a window at the back of the building looks out onto a stretch of grass and beyond that, a block of student accommodation. On the few occasions that Brienne has secured this seat for herself she’s watched the students coming and going, often pausing outside in clusters for a smoke. It’s oddly reassuring to be reminded that life is going on outside of the library.

She hasn’t told anyone about her all-nighter with Jaime. Not even Catelyn, who as an older postgrad occupies a weird space of being half a mentor and half a friend. Brienne can already see how that conversation would spiral out of her control, thanks to the fact that she rarely socializes when given the choice. There are only a handful of people at uni that she actually _likes,_ so what’s the point of investing time and effort in everyone else? She doesn’t need a reprise of her secondary school role as an omnipresent punchline.

Of course, that was working under the assumption that she’d never see him again. There was no particular reason why she should – whatever his parting comments, she didn’t get the impression that he was anxious to repeat the experience. She’d hated being distracted and he’d hated … well, most things, from the sound of it. They’re clearly not meant to be study buddies.

However, it has since transpired that this assumption was wildly optimistic. She’d reasoned on the university being big enough (and Jaime being allergic to the library) to avoid their paths crossing. And, well – the campus might be sizeable, but the mini supermarket certainly isn’t.

‘Brienne?’

She’s queuing when she hears a male voice say her name, and despite her best instincts, still turns to look. It’s not really a day on which she feels like making conversation. Her armful of groceries consists mostly of dry shampoo and tinned soup.

Jaime’s standing in the queue behind her, accompanied by a couple of similarly attractive friends. He’s holding a six-pack of beer and a carrot cake.

‘Oh. Hi.’ There are worse places she could run into him, she quickly reminds herself. At least she’s not carrying her dirty underwear in the launderette or sweat-soaked after a workout. Could be worse.

‘Just picking up the essentials,’ he says, nodding at the beer.

‘Same,’ she says mechanically. She’s very aware of how good he looks without dark circles under his eyes. He’s wearing a well-fitting sports jacket and his hair is artfully windswept. It’s not that she feels insecure so much as totally incompatible with his entire mode of being.

One of his friends mutters something in his ear, and Jaime smiles. Half speaking over his shoulder, he says, ‘Just Brienne. We, uh, had a wild night of studying right before the deadline.’

She feels herself flush and returns her gaze to the queue in front of her. Behind her, she can hear his friends laughing.

Fuck’s sake. It shouldn’t matter to her whether they believe it was only studying or not. Yeah, it’s not the greatest ego-boost to know that the idea of anyone wanting to sleep with her is hilarious, but she has better things to measure her self-worth by.

He doesn’t say anything else to her while they’re queuing and she does her best to ignore him. It’s difficult, for some reason. Not that he’s being loud – for once, he’s adopted a tone appropriate for their environment – but she seems hardwired to notice even the smallest movement, even though she’s looking in the other direction.

Maybe this is the consequence of having witnessed him out of his element: she’s forced to recognise his preferred way of life. This is who he is the rest of the time. It ought to reinforce his annoying irrelevance, but instead she’s thinking about the Snickers he gave her and _oh come on, this is incredibly stupid._

Brienne tilts her chin up a millimeter and walks forward to buy her soup without looking over her shoulder.

 

That encounter, however, is far from the lowest point of her day.

First, she snaps and texts Catelyn about “this weird guy who joined my table” and makes the mistake of mentioning him by name. Catelyn then, of course, finds his social media and starts making comments about his ‘suitability’.

Second, the reading she did for Friday turns out to have been the wrong thing, meaning she has sixty pages of dense research to comprehend and take notes on.

And third, the library fire alarm goes off.

She’s only been there half an hour. Grumbling under her breath, Brienne throws everything into her bag – the building probably _isn’t_ on fire, and she’ll be damned if she leaves her laptop behind – and joins the throng of students heading for the door. The sirens are still blaring shrilly. If neon yellow had a sound, Brienne thinks, this would be it.

Once she’s outside, she cranes her neck looking over her shoulder to see if there’s any smoke. The only way she’s not going to feel resentful is if it turns out to be a real fire. Though if that meant the library was closed that would be a pain in the arse. Still, who decides to have a fire drill in a week full of mid-year assessments?

The space outside the library is packed. As far as Brienne can tell they’re not required to stay as an assembled group, but no one’s giving up the chance of returning. She navigates her way through the crowd to stand on the edge, so that she’s not entirely surrounded by people.

‘Brienne!’

It’s Catelyn, this time. Brienne is usually quite easy to pick out of a crowd; she’s a head taller than almost everyone else.

‘Do you think it’s a real fire?’ Brienne asks. She’s been carrying her backpack slung over one shoulder, but it’s so heavy that she wriggles a second arm through the straps.

‘Probably not. I wasn’t inside yet.’ Catelyn looks towards the building. ‘Typical, when I’ve just paid for parking.’

‘I really need to do my reading. _Shit.’_

‘We could go to a café?’

Brienne shakes her head. Even if she hadn’t spent too much on coffee this week, that’s not an option. ‘They’ll all be full. And loud. I didn’t understand this reading when I was doing it in there. I’m not going to get it if I’m somewhere else.’

Catelyn purses her lips. It’s at times like these that Brienne is reminded by age gap between them. It makes her feel like a petulant youth.

‘I’ll just go home,’ Brienne says. If she shuts her door and put on music she might just get through it.

‘Are you sure? You can come to the science block with me, if you want.’

‘No, it’s not really fair to take that space away from actual science students.’ Maybe she’ll just throw herself at the mercy of her tutor and admit she hasn’t done the reading. The fire alarm excuse would hold, except everyone’s going to be trying it.

‘At least you’ll be safe from that guy there,’ Catelyn adds.

‘I was never _unsafe_ from him,’ Brienne says, more irritably than she means to. Sometimes Catelyn being a proper adult is helpful, but sometimes she seems to forget that Brienne isn’t a kid. ‘He was just annoying.’

‘You never know.’

‘Yes, one can be annoyed to death by attractive yet boneheaded jocks,’ Brienne sighs, and then feels bad. None of this is Catelyn’s fault. ‘Sorry, I’m just … this week has been a lot.’

‘Go home, do your reading and then have a break.’

‘I don’t have time.’

‘Better to sacrifice a bit of work now to stop you burning out completely.’ Annoyingly, it’s sensible advice. Catelyn rummages in her bag for some lip balm, applies it, and says, ‘Right, I’m going to J Block now; you’re still welcome to come if you want.’

‘No, no, I’ll go. See you.’

‘Bye!’ Catelyn breaks away from the crowd and starts down the path leading over to the science buildings.

Brienne turns back towards the assembled people – none of whom show any signs of being let back into the library anytime soon – and is so surprised that she loses all control of her verbal filter and says, quite loudly, ‘ _Fuck.’_

‘Hello to you too,’ Jaime says.

‘Have you been standing there all this time?’

He shrugs. ‘Some of it. I thought jock was a bit of an American term.’

This is it. Brienne is going to commit murder on campus. Years from now, students will hesitate before walking over this spot. Her dad is going to be so disappointed.

‘Have you been following me?’ she demands. He seems to have shed the friends he was with before, which only compounds her suspicions.

‘Nah. Got booted out of the library with everyone else.’ He registers that she doesn’t believe him, and adds, ‘I did spot you, though. You’re _really_ tall.’

‘So you came over to, what? Eavesdrop on a private conversation?’

‘No,’ he says, still infuriatingly collected, ‘I was going to ask you if you needed somewhere else to study. Given that they don’t want to let us back in the library and all the cafés are bound to be full.’

That throws her. ‘What do you mean?’

He shrugs again. ‘My flat’s got an office room with a nice view. I rarely use it. Having somebody actually _study_ in there would probably do wonders for the place’s atmosphere.’

‘You want me to _go to your house?’_ Either Brienne’s lost her mind, or he has. ‘You barely know me. I could murder you and frame your dog.’

‘I don’t have a dog. And I can tell all I need to know about you,’ he says.

‘Really? Like what?’

‘You’ve got clear moral guidelines and hold yourself to a high standard of academic work. You probably go to every lecture and sit in the first two rows. You actually ask questions in the optional Q&A segment at the end and you’ve never submitted an assignment late.’

‘And that makes you think I’m less likely to be a secret serial killer?’

Jaime smiles, in the way he must know is annoying. ‘I’m prepared to find out.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still thinking this is going to be 4 chapters in total - so either the next one might be quite long, or there will end up being 5. If anybody has a preference either way, do let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘All right,’ she says. Concentrated stress and sleep deprivation have probably eliminated her ability to make decisions with any kind of clarity. ‘I’ll come.’  
> Jaime blinks. For all his insistence, he clearly hadn’t expected her to say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean this chapter to get so long - I was going to break it into two parts, but there wasn't any place I could get an even split.

The thing is, Brienne really hadn’t planned to say yes. In fact, in those moments following Jaime’s last remark, a whole range of expletives danced through her head, mostly involving how exactly he could go and fuck himself.

Then the thought of going home, back to the damp little house with people she doesn’t like, and trying to get through her reading there floats back into her head. Whatever she said to Catelyn, the prospect isn’t great. She’s too tall for her desk so will have to sit on her bed and she’ll get cold and sit under the duvet and will end up napping instead.

Wow, if accepting the invite of an irritating guy she met a few days ago is the most sensible course of action, something is really wrong with her life.

‘Why are you asking me?’ she says, unable to shake her suspicions regarding his intentions.

‘I don’t know, to be honest,’ he says, quite carelessly and avoiding her eye. ‘There’s a troll in the hallway I need help defeating. I’m trying to balance my karma from the atrocities I committed on my gap year. I’m planning to steal your work and submit it as my own.’

‘With that hospitality, you could run a B&B.’

‘People say that a lot.’

Brienne hesitates. It’s clearly the reasonable thing to say no, isn’t it? Except surely the most reasonable course of action is the one that involves getting the most reading done, and if Jaime’s telling the truth about an office room …

‘All right,’ she says. Concentrated stress and sleep deprivation have probably eliminated her ability to make decisions with any kind of clarity. ‘I’ll come.’

Jaime blinks. For all his insistence, he clearly hadn’t expected her to say yes.

‘So,’ Brienne says. She’s made her bed now, she’ll be damned if she won’t lie in it. ‘Where do you live?’

 

Jaime’s flat could be very nice, if anyone else lived there. Nobody does, and so it’s an absolute tip.

The worst part – as far as Brienne is concerned – is how easily it _could_ be a good living space. It’s in a relatively new building, so has none of the damp or structural issues she’s facing with her house. The furniture is clearly from IKEA’s minimalist range, but that means it all matches. The kitchen even has massive windows, so there’s tons of natural light.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to appreciate all of that when there’s crap _everywhere._

‘I’d say I wasn’t expecting to have anyone round,’ Jaime says, kicking an empty Amazon box out of his way, ‘but it always looks like this.’

Brienne is about to say something cutting or polite – she hasn’t decided which yet – when she steps on something that squishes unpleasantly. She jumps backward, to see a broken stress ball where her foot had been.

‘The office is all right,’ Jaime says brightly. He either hasn’t noticed her discomfort or has chosen stoically to ignore it. ‘It’s through here.’

Stepping gingerly, she follows him through the living room. There’s the windowsill lined with whiskey bottles she saw on his Instagram. Most of her uni friends are the nerdy and clean type; she’s been foolish to forget that this type of mess is ordinary.

Coming here was clearly a terrible idea, but she’s in too far to get out now. It’s started to feel like a test of her ability to study in different environments.

Surprisingly, he is telling the truth about the office. It’s crowded, with boxes piled up by the door and some miscellaneous gym equipment shoved next to the desk, but there’s space for a person to sit and work. The desk by the window, too, making it as light as the kitchen.

‘See? I said it was nicer.’ He sounds way to proud, for someone who has narrowly avoided ruining every space in his flat.

‘Yes, you did.’ She tests the desk chair. He must have used it a handful of times; it’s set up for someone of their height. ‘This is alright, actually.’

‘No need to embarrass me with your gratitude,’ he says. ‘But hey, if someone can get use out of it. Oh, and the wifi password is on the back of the printer.’

And with that, he leaves her.

Brienne starts to take her stuff out. There’s an outlet next to the desk, so she plugs her laptop in and starts sorting through her notes. She doesn’t have a hard copy of the reading, so will have to make notes instead of annotating it. Otherwise she’s not going to retain anything.

God, Jaime is a Lot weirder than he initially let on – and a lot harder to predict. She’ll think she’s got to grips with the type of student he is – athletic, partying – and then he’ll say something that will throw her assumptions off completely.

How does _anyone_ get an 87? And, how does anyone who looks like _that_ \- because, even if she’s thinking rationally, it would be a waste of time to pretend he isn’t attractive – be consistently this odd when he has more than two braincells? If he were hot and stupid, it would be different.

Right. She needs to concentrate. The whole point of coming here was to get work done. It would be massively counterproductive to get so distracted by trying to figure Jaime out that she doesn’t finish the reading. She takes her phone out of her pocket, intending to set it on aeroplane mode, and freezes when she sees a text from Catelyn.

_Remember to take breaks! Rest is important too xx_

She should tell Catelyn that she’s here. She should tell _anyone_ that she’s here; it would be monumentally stupid to go to a strange guy’s house and not leave any kind of trail. At the same time, the thought of prompting that conversation is about as appealing as taking on a bear one-handed.

Brienne puts her phone down and opens the reading.

 

To his credit, for the next two hours Jaime leaves her to it. She can hear him occasionally, moving about and then sounds of a TV, but he neither interrupts nor reveals a plan to kidnap her.

(She would be quite impressed if a plan did exist. For all his bravado, he’s not going to take her in a fight, and even if he’s got backup, what would they do with her then? She would be a very boring hostage).

She’s two-thirds of the way through the reading – which isn’t bad, given its length and density – when he wanders through the door, carrying cups of jelly and two spoons.

‘Snack?’ he offers one. It’s bright orange, according to the lid it’s pineapple flavour. Brienne politely shakes her head.

‘Making progress?’ there aren’t any other chairs in the room, so he pulls a large inflatable ball out of the pile of gym equipment and sits on that.

‘Some,’ she says. It’s quite disconcerting to watch him eat Jell-O and bounce slightly at the same time. ‘I have to ask, though.’

‘What?’ He must have taken his jacket off because he’s just wearing a T-shirt now. It looks good, damn it.

‘Do you usually invite people round to use your office?’

He stops bouncing. ‘No.’

‘Why, then? It’s been helpful and I’m grateful but it’s still … weird.’

‘I haven’t invited anyone else because I don’t think any of my friends know how to read,’ he says, with a slight laugh. ‘I mean no, that’s not true, but like, none of them are going to read for _fun.’_

‘You do know this is uni work, right? I don’t pick articles like this for my holiday reading.’

‘And yet you’re so dedicated to your studies that you’re up all night.’

She blinks. ‘I was working during the day. I guess you can’t relate, but some of us have jobs.’

‘How come you’re here now, then?’

‘It’s not every day. Why did you ask me here?’

‘Call it a random act of goodwill. I’ve pushed a lot of nerds around, aren’t I allowed to give something back?’

‘So this is meant to make you feel better about being a shitty person?’

‘Yeah. Something like that.’

‘Great.’

‘Plus, you’re like, an _inspiration.’_ He says it with such forced sincerity that she realises, with a jolt, that this whole conversation is intended to wind her up. ‘Seeing you so hard at work reminds me of my own laziness and – ’

‘All right, I get it. Very funny.’

‘I’m not horrible,’ Jaime amends, now ripping open the second jelly cup and eating it. ‘You keep looking at me like I’m some type of supervillain.’

‘Well, _you_ seem to swing between wanting me to hate you and being offended that I might,’ she counters.

‘Mmm,’ he says, in vague assent. ‘Have fun with that.’

Brienne looks at the desk. Two-thirds of the reading is better than none. If she commits, she can finish the rest at home. ‘I should go.’

‘I’ve got other snacks,’ he says quickly. ‘And I was thinking about ordering a pizza at some point.’

He’d be the despair of any personal trainer, with the amount of crap he eats.

‘I’m good, thanks.’ She closes her laptop and unplugs it, keenly aware that he’s watching her. She didn’t get a lot of stuff out, though, so collecting it all doesn’t take long.

Jaime gets up just as she starts towards the door, as though to walk her out. She hadn’t expected him to move, so only just stops short of walking into him.

‘Sorry,’ she says automatically, suddenly aware of how close to her he’s standing. She’s a little taller, but only a little. At this proximity she normally towers over people, whereas his face is just there.

He makes an inarticulate noise, and is staring at her – at her eyes – which is not horrible, but not really ideal either.

‘Well, uh, thanks,’ she says, touching his forearm lightly and squeezing past him to get out the door.

This is going to make an interesting story, at least. Not one she can tell to Catelyn (that way a lecture lies) but Asha’s bound to get a kick out of it.

‘Hey!’ Jaime’s followed her out of the office. She stops. Is this the point where he reveals he’s been filming for a prank YouTube channel? She’d hardly be surprised.

‘What?’

‘I…’ he’s having some trouble. ‘You’re welcome, uh, to come round again. If you need a study space.’

Brienne stares. ‘I’ve got shit to do. I can’t be your motivational guide, or whatever the hell you’re trying to get out of this.’

‘Right,’ Jaime says. ‘I know, I mean, that’s cool; nerds aren’t really my thing anyway. That’s good, whatever.’

Yeah, Asha will love this.

‘What, exactly,’ Brienne says, knowing if she doesn’t clarify this now it’s going to annoy her forever, ‘did you want to get out of this? Was “studying” meant to be some kind of euphemism? Because if so you definitely picked the wrong person.’

‘Yeah, getting girls to “study” with me is the number one way to get laid,’ he says, so acidly that she flinches.

‘God, I’m not – if I thought you were hitting on me, I wouldn’t have come.’

‘Well now you’re hurting my feelings.’

‘And why do you keep offering me food? Have you spiked it? I know you’re doing something but that would be – ’

‘ _Spiked_ it?’ his incredulity sounds genuine enough for her to doubt her suspicions. ‘Jesus, it’s not that inconceivable that someone would want to spend time with you.’

‘Right. It’s quality time you’re after. Can’t possibly get that from anyone else so you’ve decided to fixate on _me.’_

‘That’s different. You’re not – ’

‘If you’re about to say I’m not like other girls I will punch you,’ she says, furiously. This would be the first time she’s been someone’s manic pixie dream girl – and maybe grumpy study goblin would be a better name – but that doesn’t mean she’s happy about it.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Jaime looks down, and then back up at her. ‘I don’t know why I like you. You’re insufferable.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be sure to come by next time I want to be insulted.’

‘Did you hear what I said? We spent what, a few hours being stressed in a café and now I…’

She falls silent, unsure where this is going.

‘I keep thinking about you,’ Jaime says, as though dredging the words out of him are a tremendous effort. ‘And I just want, I don’t know, to know you better or some shit like that? But you look like you’re always busy so I thought – oh, never mind. Doesn’t matter. You can go. It’s fine.’

‘You could have just asked if I wanted to hang out,’ Brienne says. No part of this conversation is making the slightest bit of sense.

‘Would you have said yes?’

‘I don’t know, _because you didn’t ask.’_

‘Fine.’ He sets his jaw. ‘Do you want to get a drink – or a coffee – at some point?’

‘Would you spend the whole time insulting me?’

‘No. Unless you have pineapple on pizza, in which case you’ve brought it upon yourself.’

‘All right, then.’ She takes a breath and the motion makes her realise how tense she is. She can _feel_ the air between them. None of her university experience has primed her to deal with a situation like this.

Jaime’s chest falls slightly as he lets out the smallest breath. ‘I don’t know why I like you,’ he says, again.

‘That’s not a compliment,’ she says, though the technical part of her mind is fussing over how he’s defining _like_ here. Granted, he probably doesn’t have any friends similar to her, but he has to realise how that sounds…right?

‘I just want to…’ he says, but doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s gone back to looking at the carpet. She had no idea somebody that tall and good-looking could be so awkward.

‘Want to what?’

He looks at her, and something seems to snap inside him. He steps forward, so quickly that his foot collides with a bag and he trips, hurtling forward and colliding with her. Brienne reacts instinctively, catching hold of him and stopping him from falling any further. He isn’t light, but she’s strong enough to pull him upright.

There’s an awkward pause as Jaime regains his balance.

‘That was dramatic,’ she says, with a controlled calm that doesn’t betray how fast her heart is thudding in her chest. ‘You already had my attention, there was really no need.’

He looks at her, somewhere between amused and annoyed. ‘I was trying,’ he says, making a very deliberate show of stepping forward more carefully, ‘to do this.’

And then all of a sudden he’s right there, leaning in and kissing her with the same urgency as he’d first started forward with.

Brienne’s surprise is twofold: first at Jaime and then at herself. That is, once she gets over the shock of being kissed (and by this beautiful yet absolutely ridiculous guy) she’s surprised at quite how much she’s enjoying it. She’s had enough half-hearted kisses to know when someone really means it, and, well – he does. His mouth is insistent against hers, his broad arms wrapping around her and his chest is warm through his shirt to her hands, which have taken matters into their own accord and are pressed against him.

‘So I was right,’ she says, when he pauses, ‘studying _was_ a euphemism.’

Her hands are still on him; she feels rather than hears the laugh run through his body.

‘You got the reading done,’ he says. ‘It’s win-win.’

Brienne traces a finger along his jawline. There’s something satisfyingly powerful about him; even if guys are as tall as she is, she’s still worried she might be too strong or too heavy and break them somehow. Leaning against Jaime, she’s balanced.

‘I didn’t finish it,’ she says. ‘I’ve got twenty pages left.’

‘Please tell me you’re not about to leave so you can read them.’

She really should. It’s only twenty pages; if she makes a cup of tea, turns off her phone WiFi and sits up in bed it ought to be manageable. But to let go of Jaime, to turn her back on him and walk calmly from his flat – right now, that’s beyond her.

God, it really has been a long time since she’s had a decent kiss.

‘I’ve been doing a lot,’ she says. ‘I think I deserve a break.’

 

‘Tell me something,’ she says, some time later. The rest of the afternoon has proved interesting. Jaime’s bedroom, it transpires, is the only part of the flat to not be a mess.

‘What?’ Jaime looks over at her. His bed is big enough for both of them to spread out, but he’s only inches away.

‘If you can afford a flat, you can afford a cleaner. Unless you have one already but after this room they all quit out of despair.’

‘You really think I should subject someone to sorting through week-old crisp packets? I’m a slob, not a monster.’

If she hadn’t had such a good time, Brienne would be very disappointed in her life choices right now.

Well, she’s still the smallest bit disappointed. This type of impromptu hookup is about as far away from her regular habits as skydiving would be to an emu. She only met him a few days ago. He could still turn out to be a taxidermist or a Tory or something like that. She’s very slightly worried that she might not _mind_ if he were one of those things when he’s this good in bed.

‘I’ll be honest,’ Jaime says, still conversationally, ‘I didn’t think you’d be up for, well, ’ he nods at the bed.

‘ _I_ didn’t think I’d be up for it,’ she admits.

‘Guess I’m just that irresistible,’ he says.

‘Don’t let it go to your head.’ She pushes his face away playfully with one hand.

‘Oh, I intend to.’ He grabs her hand and kisses her, first on the mouth and then on the neck. ‘Thought you’d be too sensible to sleep with me, didn’t you?’

‘Mmh,’ she mumbles, too distracted to respond properly. Then, when he finally releases her, ‘You didn’t plan this, either.’

‘Maybe I’m just being modest.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ There’s a clock on his wall; she angles her head to read it. ‘Crap, I should go.’

‘I thought you were about the all-nighter lifestyle,’ he says, nudging her shoulder.

‘I need dinner.’

‘I can order a pizza, remember?’

She shakes her head, and forces herself to get up. ‘No, I’ve got loads of vegetables I need to use up. I was going to do a curry.’

He groans. ‘I thought you’d finally stopped being reasonable.’

‘Don’t know what gave you that idea.’ Her bra has managed to wedge itself under the bed. She retrieves it and dresses hastily.

‘Let’s get your number at least.’

She unlocks her phone and passes it to him. ‘Add yourself.’

‘You’re sure I can’t tempt you to pizza?’

Brienne sits on the edge of the bed to pull her shoes on. ‘I think you’ve done enough tempting for one day.’

 

She’s not even all the way home when the first text appears in her inbox. Jaime doesn’t identify himself but the content – _so when’s round 2?? [devil emoji]_ – speaks for itself. She doesn’t respond immediately, mostly because the bus is going over a particularly bumpy patch of road and there’s no way she’ll be able to type legibly.

After a few minutes, she writes _you’re going to have to buy me another coffee first_ and then sends it before she can change her mind.

The reply is almost instantaneous. _fair enough. when are u next in the library?_

This has been a strange week, Brienne thinks, starting to type a reply. Oh shit, she’s going to have to tell Catelyn – this is too big to keep from her – and Catelyn is going to _kill_ her. What’s Brienne going to be able to offer as a defense? “Yeah, he’s a bit of a dickhead, but he’s also weird as hell and the sex was great?” Something tells her that’s not going to hold up.

Asha, at least, should be on her side. Brienne makes a mental note to tell her first.

Another text from Jaime arrives. _u still there? didn’t think youd be the sort to love em and leave em._

 _Maybe I am,_ she writes back, adding before he can get mock-outraged, _Monday works for me x._

If nothing else, this whole thing has stopped her worrying about that bloody essay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are pineapples an obscure motif, or was that an accident? You decide.
> 
> Thanks again to Beesreadbooks for the prompts! I wouldn't have written any of this without them and I've really enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> Feel free to find me and chat to me on [tumblr](https://betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com/), but I should say I don't post much GoT stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely Should Not be starting a mini multi-chaptered fic when I'm this busy buuuuut hey! It's happening! Asked the lovely [Beesreadbooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beesreadbooks/pseuds/Beesreadbooks) for a prompt and they said coffee shop. I'm in the third year of my BA right now and unable to comprehend not being a student...and so this AU was born.
> 
> It's going to be about 3-4 chapters, so not tooo long (I would love to make this an incredibly slow burn, but, uh, I really don't have the time for that, fun as it would be!). 
> 
> Also a quick clarification: though I'll probably avoid stating it outright, I may imply that Brienne and Jaime are studying law. There is a problem here, in that I don't study law and don't know anyone who does. All my essay knowledge comes from my own degree, which is English Literature. That said, marking grids are usually fairly similar across the board:  
> 60-69 is a 2:1  
> 70+ is a first  
> Anything 80+ is very difficult to get in essay-assessed subjects. An 87 would be nigh-on impossible.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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